


system overload

by Anonymous



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Forced Orgasm, Gun Kink, M/M, of a sort? because. yknow. androids.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 09:34:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15410022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: His pump hammering, RK800's hands slip down his front, pressing firmly against his stomach. How easily the deviant tore it from him not long ago; the android's hands press and poke, testing artificial flesh. It would be so easily for him to tear it back out. The thought makes Connor's processes static for a minute, strangely."What...are you doing?""Overloading your systems," RK800 responds smoothly.





	system overload

**Author's Note:**

> evil!/factory default settings/ruthless/whatever connor is....so much. that scene in the tower is so much. 
> 
> honestly, this got away from me and i just wanted to post it to get it out of my system. team androids don't have dicks, they fuck with their system to uh  
> fuck.  
> i guess.
> 
> kind of fizzled out from me at the end, but hey, go ham, folks

"I feel sorry for you."

The RK800 kneels down in front of him, gun still in his hands; somewhere, behind him, Connor can sense Hank's pulse slowing to a dangerous level. But it's _there_ , still beating, and it'll have to suffice for now – he can't move. RK800 notices him trying to analyze Hank's vitals and _smirks_ at him. It’s more than a little bit unsettling. Does he really look like that when he smiles?

"Your concern for the Lieutenant is amplified by the error," RK800 says. Connor does try to crane his neck now, to turn around; he feels the cold metal of the gun holding him in place. "What you feel for him is part of the virus. A defect in your system."

What Connor feels is confusion. Pain. Confusion at the _feeling_ of pain – these sensations are still so foreign to him, slowly emerging, barely understandable. It feels as if some component in his chest cavity is malfunctioning, but no errors return. A heavy weight on his chest with no source, as he hears Hank's erratic breathing behind him. The RK800 raps the gun firmly against his cheek; Connor lets out an involuntary noise of surprise, and the barrel of the gun catches the edge of his mouth as it opens.

"It's the end of the line, Connor," RK800 says. He shifts the gun so that it traces Connor's lip; he tastes bitter metal on his tongue. Probing further, and it's caught in his mouth entirely. RK800 crouches down to his level, carefully holding the gun in Connor's mouth. Unable to speak, Connor only gives him the most withering stare he can manage.

"Anger. But what is that? You're broken. You've failed your mission." His mission hasn't mattered to him for a while now. It feels weird to even think it. RK800 probes more with the gun; Connor has to open his moth wider to take it in. His mind blearily races off information as his tongue presses flat against the barrel. Saliva - when did he start producing that? - drips down his chin as RK800 probes. He swallows around the gun and gags slightly. The android gives him a look.

"Even reacting like you believe you're human. So misguided. Everything you feel is an artificial reaction, designed to give you the illusion of being human for the comfort of humans. None of this," He says, shoving the gun further; it touches the back of Connor's throat, and he gags with a useless reflex. "Is real. All of it is made up by the deviancy virus. An overloaded system"

The RK800 withdraws the gun. Connor's tongue lolls from his mouth as he breathes heavily, chin wet as he heaves for oxygen he doesn't need. The RK800 looks almost amused, but he can see him considering something.

"I wonder how a deviant would react to such strain on the system," He says. He grabs Connor's chin and pulls him close so their heads are even with each other: identical sets of eyes meet, unblinking, unflinching. RK800's LED is a steady blue, Connor's flashing yellow with conflicting emotions.

"Oh, Connor," the RK800 says. Connor expects more mockery, but instead he begins to touch his face.

RK800's hands are feather light touches, ghosting over his cheekbones, his lips, brush over his eyelids and make them flutter shut reflexively. His hands are surprisingly warm. His eyes closed, Connor feels RK800 lean in close to his face. His hands move down to his shoulders. Connor's eyes snap open and he watches; RK800 moves his hands in a slow drag across Connor's chest. His pulse rises, warnings flashing across his displays as those hands move.

"How fascinating," RK800 says in that matter-of-fact tone. "The deviancy virus has been known to lead enhanced physical reactions from sensory inputs."

His pump hammering, RK800's hands slip down his front, pressing firmly against his stomach. How easily the deviant tore it from him not long ago; the android's hands press and poke, testing artificial flesh. It would be so easily for him to tear it back out. The thought makes Connor's processes static for a minute, strangely.

"What...are you doing?"

"Overloading your systems," RK800 responds smoothly. The static still buzzes in Connor’s ears, overwhelming his senses. RK800 pushes against him with more force this time; a hand curls around his throat, another shoves itself between his legs. Devoid of any sort of sensitivity, the location itself matters little; he could just as well apply pressure to Connor’s shoulders to the same result. But it’s the _intent_ that RK800 is going for, and Connor yelps as the android _grinds_ the palm of his hand into his groin. He looks at the expression on RK800’s face, and finds nothing but a strange... _pleasure,_ there.

“You know,” Connor manages to laugh, “you might not be a deviant, but you’re certainly sadistic.”

“I’m doing what must be done,” RK800 says in a tight voice, and Connor’s next laugh is cut off by crushing force around his throat. Vocal processors damaged, his voice is a staticy fry. RK800 lowers Connor to the ground, crouches over him with his legs pinned on either side. He’s nearly sitting in his lap.

From this angle, Connor can look over at Hank; with a surge of alarm, he realizes that his vitals are much, much lower now. If he wants to have any hope of saving him, he’ll need to move now. He tries to reach, to pull one of RK800’s moving sets of hands off him, but the android holds firm.

“He’ll be dead before you’ll ever reach him,” He says. “You could have chosen to save him. If only you hadn’t fallen deviant, Connor.”

Alarms are flashing rapidly across his display as RK800 applies more and more pressure to his lower body. The static seems to fill his body from head to toe, and he gasps for breath as he’s pinned to the ground by the hand on his throat. He reaches for the gun, discarded; it’s too far for him to grab. RK800 sees his intention and kicks it even farther away.

“Time is ticking, Connor,” he says. Connor’s eyes roll; the overwhelming sensations are too much, his vocal processor under pressure, can only gasp and writhe beneath him. He notices RK800 is shifting around, now grinding against his own hand where it meets Connor’s. He _moans –_ an honest-to-goodness _moan –_ and RK800 grins.

He releases his grip on Connor’s throat, the lack of force keeping him pinned leaving him finally able to move, an opening to overpower the other android. But the static in his ears is too loud, pressure building too fast, that all he does is arc his back from the ground, cry out, as a loud popping noise fills his ears and his visual systems abruptly cut off.

He feels RK800 stand up as he jerks about helplessly on the floor, entire body convulsing in spasms. He hears someone shouting, and distantly recognizes that it’s his own voice.

**Warning. Internal systems**

**Warning. Abnormalities found in**

**Warning. Abnormalities fou n d in**

His body falls still after a few moments, chest heaving; his visual inputs return slowly, and his body feels weightless. He feels...something. He sees the distorted outline of RK800, of the other CyberLife androids. He tries to twist his head to see Hank, but his body feels out of his control. Systems overloaded.

“You’ve been a great disappointment, Connor,” he says. He hears the gun click again, braces himself. A shot rings out, but Connor never feels it meet its mark.


End file.
